


Not Even If Sober

by glitchkillgasm



Category: Bandom, Jack White - Fandom, Modest Mouse (Band), The White Stripes, modest mouse
Genre: Anal Sex, Bad Decisions, Dirty Talk, Eventual sexy times, Finger Sucking, Fingerfucking, M/M, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Tags Added As I Go, fight me over it, you fucking heard me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-03-30 14:59:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3941161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitchkillgasm/pseuds/glitchkillgasm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is supposed to take place mostly in the 90s, when Modest Mouse is sure as fuck getting up in the music industry, but the White Stripes don't even exist. As well, Jack doesn't live in Detroit, but instead found himself a place to stay in Washington, near Issaquah. Let's just pretend that Jack from around their first album does the do with Isaac in the mid-90s. Basically I've got it to where Isaac meets Jack through extended friends and they hit it off, they're both kinda eccentric people and it just works. Jack is just now starting to get into the music business, and he's playing shows around Washington to try and get the word out, just as Isaac is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. We Need Oxygen To Breathe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [god himself](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=god+himself).



  
It's a long night for two people that don't have much to talk about. The engine's pouring out  
smoke, and the gritty screeching that it makes when Isaac attempts to crank the ignition  
doesn't give him any hope of leaving soon. Temperatures don't stay above twenty at this time  
of year, especially with the sun hanging below the horizon, reminding him of the fact that  
it's only going to get worse. Wouldn't be surprised if it reached zero, and they're not  
within walking distance of anything reasonable enough for them to pool all of their pocket  
change together and hope for a nice person at the front desk of a seedy motel. That, and  
there's the issue of them both being fucking dudes, a fact that would turn heads in his  
close-minded little town. He supposes, as well, with a cigarette pressed loosely between his  
lips as he absently fixes his attention on the too-complicated innards of his cursed vehicle,  
that he doesn't know Jack well enough to tell if he'd flip about sharing a bed. Possibly the  
last thing that Isaac needs in this moment is to get punched for proposing something that got  
interpreted the wrong way.

"Fucking piece of shit." He mumbles underneath his breath, pressing down the hood of his car  
and laying both of his palms flat on the worn down metal, his attention now turning to the  
other man with mild curiosity. Jack is perched in the passenger seat with some cassette tape  
that he had brought along and it appears as if he doesn't care in the least that they're  
stranded in the middle of nowhere, lithe and pail fingers drumming a rhythm that Isaac can  
barely make out onto the dashboard. Karma has a way of fucking him over when it comes to  
socializing, sometimes he wonders if God is real and is punishing him for the drugs, repeats  
to himself that it's just his luck.

Stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket, Isaac takes his time approaching Jack's  
side of the car, as if the stalling will keep him from having to deliver the news that  
they're not heading anywhere until the morning. Walking off into the nothingness of the  
current landscape isn't wise, especially with how freezing it is outside. Skinny little thing  
like Jack will waste away, probably never see the sun again (even though it looks like he  
doesn't want to in any case).

"So," The shorter of the men speaks, "I'm really shitty with cars, and I don't think that  
we're going to get this thing up and running. I'm not even sure why I tried looking at it, to  
be honest." he chuckles, it's an attempt at humor, and he just hopes that it doesn't fall  
flat and Jack decides to be adventurous and leave him alone to shiver in the van. At least  
they have one another to speak with. There is a hint of a smile that comes across Jack's face  
and it lightens the mood a bit. "I figured as much" he gets out, the sparking of a lighter  
sounding from within the car, and Isaac's confused until Jack raises it to his face, an offer  
of sorts. Leaning forward and accepting, he breathes in some of the smoke, but he can't seem  
to bring his eyes off of the other man's, dark and unreadable, unlike his own that display  
ever ounce of pain he has in his bones. Jack doesn't waver, either, just meets his gaze in an  
equal intensity, and Isaac realizes that they're both getting a feel for one another, even if  
they won't voice it.

They met through some friends of friends, and the night had began with a van packed full of  
people, and had somehow wound up with just the two of them. They were the only people that  
felt restless enough to drive on the highway until they were lost at four in the morning, and  
that spoke to him more than any words.

It's in their nature to be cautious, he reckons, which is possibly why they haven't spoken to  
one another save for the times that it's borderline required, but he can sense that Jack is  
enjoying himself. Sort of like that whole 'Pulp Fiction' spiel. Reaching to take the  
cigarette and taking a long drag from it, he watches Isaac pretend to turn his eyes  
elsewhere, the road, or perhaps some of the trees off in the distance, but he's not mistaken  
when he takes note that he lingered over his mouth far too long. He's not sure what to do  
with that information, never is.

That stare could set the forest on fire, Isaac swears, almost recoiling when he gives a  
signal of returning the cigarette to him, thoughts elsewhere.


	2. Every Breath That Is In Your Lungs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part one of the actual gay sex so.. 
> 
> Also, established relationship

Fingers ghost over flesh and leave the sensation of burning, the urgency of clothing needing to be removed, heat that prickles underneath the fibers and drives him up the wall with anticipation. Jack knows what he's doing, he's got it down to a fucking science it's so good, working him up on purpose just to see how far he can push him before he cracks. Isaac wants to think that he's got more self control than that, but forgets in his arousal that he's practically an alcoholic already, and his substance issues don't stop around that ballpark, either. The fact is that Isaac doesn't have any type of control over himself, and maybe that's why it works so perfectly, because Jack is all about /power/. 

Long legs work their way in between short ones, knees finding a space on the inside of Isaac's as Jack's hand scratches him underneath his shirt, light trails of angered pink following where his nails go. He can feel him shaking beneath him, his skin reacting so eagerly to his touch that he wonders why he bothers with foreplay, if not for the view. It's times when Isaac wants to go fast, wants to get fucked into the floor like it's a hasty one time thing, wants to get used, that Jack teases -- Keeps him wrapped tightly around his finger. A whine comes from the back of Isaac's throat, and it's the beginning sign, he's going to collapse, calculated and precise, he's going to break. 

"Please." That voice mutters, and even now, with Isaac pinned underneath him, Jack can't help himself from noticing how cute his lisp is, but doesn't want him to feel self-conscious, so he says nothing in reply. It doesn't stop him from smiling, though, as he leans down and buries his face in the crook of the other's neck so that he can kiss along the stubble there. 

That's not good enough, "Mm." Jack replies heatedly against the skin, his own breath is getting heavy and his cock is pressing into the material of his pants, and even he is having a difficult time keeping at this pace. He chooses to rut his hips down into Isaac, who can only really grab at whatever he can for support, to keep himself from coming loose, hands gripping him at his sides, nails just barely digging in. They've both been aching for this, hiding it from everyone, doing it in the dark where nobody would ever find them, closeted and pushed away. 

It's a fact that tends to take a toll on Isaac's conscience when they've got to shy away from the actual events that have rooted them together, lying through his teeth to save what sort of reputation they've got. Frankly, Isaac doesn't think that Jack is afraid of being outed as gay, just doesn't want to be with him. It keeps him awake, there's so much energy invested in denial, but true fear lies in acceptance, the lingering paranoia of growing used to a condition to the point that it no longer feels like it's wrong. Once it stops hurting is the moment that Isaac looks forward to, but knows that he will no longer see the beauty in the other man once he grows numb. Staying up past sunrise, a bottle of the cheapest liquor that the shop has clutched absently in his hand, he waits, because there are mornings when Jack finds his way to the wrong apartment just as the dawn hits the clouds. 

The first time it had been a surprise, Isaac had even offered to call him another cab to get himself safely to his own place if he wanted, but it almost seemed intentional, orchestrated to the very last note. Maybe this is what they're supposed to be, he doesn't know, just knows that he wants in this moment, can't bring himself to say all of the words that he's written down in countless journals strewn about his room, swallows the venom that he knows he could use. The words "you're so perfect, like this" come from Jack's deepened voice, and if brings a qualifier into the statement, it makes Isaac wonder if he even enjoys him in any other way.   
There is pain, and there is pleasure, and it fucks with his mind the way that sometimes he can't even tell the difference. His heart wrenches as it races because this could very well be the last time that Jack sees something at all in him. It's come to his knowledge that he doesn't stay in one place for too long, and they are musicians, traveling where works is and not looking over their shoulder. Detroit is also a long ways away. 

Worlds and reality aren't something that he can comprehend, callouses rubbing over the sensitive and risen nipples briefly, enjoying the huff of breath that comes from Isaac, followed by the whimper as Jack rolls them between his thumb and index finger. It's definitely fighting dirty, a hand snaking its way into the front of Jack's jeans to massage him, not even taken back by the lack of underwear. A set of teeth come together on the skin where Jack's neck meets his shoulder, an intensity behind it that almost reminds him of an animal, backed into a corner and merely acting on instinct. Suddenly, it's not so one-sided anymore, Jack forgetting to prevent himself from thrusting into the other man's hand, fucking it like he's a desperate bitch in heat. 

He chokes back that groan that threatens to give Isaac the satisfaction of riling him up, dark eyes clouded over subtly with a fair amount of lust as he pulls back to get a good glimpse of the man beneath him, as if to take a mental note. Their breathing mixes together in the room, the music that they had been listening to earlier is drowned out by how fine-tuned their brains are on one another, only moans and sighs are audible at that point. Even though he doesn't want to stop Isaac from touching him, there is a certain aspect of control that he feels as though he needs to get across, pulling his hand out of his pants and moving to to be back in its previous position. 

The image that comes next is one that makes Isaac squirm with anticipation, he can't stop himself from shaking, his body is acting on its own, even if the lewd act of Jack pressing two of his fingers into his mouth to get them wet with spit wasn't insanely fucking attractive. It's just icing on the cake, a minute detail. The waist of his own jeans are slack around his hips, the fly of them already long since undone and pulled apart, showing off the underlying boxers and the light hair that trails above the hem. As one hand holds Isaac steady, the other one pushes past the elastic waistband, over his hardness and down in between his spread legs to rub the wet saliva over his entrance. 

Isaac arches himself off of the floor, fingers curling tightly around Jack's restrictive grip, he doesn't want to be free, can even say that he finds freedom in being controlled, twisted and manipulated. There's hardly any room for thought, and that's for the best, because as of late that's all he's been doing. A mild amount of pressure is needed to push past the tight muscle, but Jack made sure to get his fingers well lubricated before hand, starting off with one. 

Isaac tips his head back and he squeezes his eyes shut, nowhere to run or shy away from the unbearable mix of uncomfortability and overwhelming pleasure that comes with being entered after such a long dry spell, teeth digging subtly into the chapped skin on his lips. He can feel a spot of moisture beginning to form in the front of his underwear, his cock is aching for Jack's attention so intensely that precum is leaking from him, it's almost embarrassing how much information his body is giving away about how starved for Jack's touch he is. It's been too long. Too long, and the fucked up part is that he's been waiting around on him. 

A suave tone almost vibrates through the air and, no, it's not the voice of God, but it might as well be, "I take it you haven't had anybody touch you like this since last time." Jack asks, and there's that devilish grin on his face as he fucks him with his middle finger. One isn't enough, it's never enough, but it's just enough to get him stirred up. He knows, the guy has this knack for reading people like picture books, it's not even a test for him. 

His voice is shaky and husky, and Jack has a knowing expression as he doesn't exactly wait for an answer, but more an affirmation, "I wouldn't be so sure" it's a lie, but Isaac isn't going to hand him over that satisfaction so easy. He'll lie through his teeth and swear up and down that he doesn't wait for Jack to pick up the phone, or wind up on his porch, because the last thing that he needs is for the other man to know that he's got him in his pocket. He won't sit pretty, and he won't beg.


	3. Making Facts Out of Opinions

Jack presses his lips down against Isaac's with increased fervor, everything aches and their body temperatures combined are nearly scathing, the solidity of his teeth wanting to overcome the silkiness of his mouth. He can taste him, the signature mixture of tobacco and a strange natural sweetness, it's entices Isaac into running his tongue along the other man's. He hopes that it's enough to keep himself quiet for the time being, but he finds himself moaning into Jack, eyes closed tightly in response to the single finger working him open so expertly that he should feel insulted. Sometimes he thinks that Jack purposefully refrains from kissing back whole-heartedly, relishes in the noises and motions that he makes when he's trying to gain his attention. It's probably to keep him coming back for more, the sick bastard. 

A second finger moves about the wetness between Isaac's legs, the feverish and slick skin there is eager, and Jack knows that it won't take any amount of effort to get inside. The taller man is the one to detach from the kiss, giving a playful nip to his lower lip as he pulls off, enjoys the way that it'll make them red and swollen the next morning. Light eyes are on him from below, pupils dilated and attentive to every detail, a plea is obvious in those irises. Without a warning, his middle finger slides in alongside his index, and the reaction that he gets is spectacular; Isaac's eyes close tightly once more, his jaw slack and he buries his face into his arm to try and hide it, a gasp being drawn against the material of his shirt. 

Jack's a little cruel in his ways, liking to have Isaac all riled up without even getting him out of his clothes, finds it amusing to be like this, fumbling around in the dark of an apartment like two teenagers trying to figure out their bodies. There's the urgency for them to be quiet, and it doesn't dawn on Isaac that it's all in his head until it's been twenty minutes of Jack revving up his sex drive and nobody busts in the door, no roommate to bother them, no judgement or rules. 

He can feel practically his whole face blushing, burning around the bridge of his nose and at the height of his cheekbones, but he fights that embarrassment, realizes that he's never been a prude, and he doesn't ever want to be one. Might as well continue being open and free-spirited as always. If anything, he should be concerned about the amount of cassettes and records strewn across his room without any type of consistency, a few of them had even been digging into his back when Jack had initially pinned him. They were a mixture of his own and the ones that Jack brought over late at night to share with him, sometimes even content that they had produced themselves. 

Sliding Isaac's pants along his thighs and off of his legs along with his underwear, he can't bring himself to prevent the whine in the back of his throat that comes from Jack pulling away his fingers, the loss of contact is the only thing that he can think about momentarily. The smaller man's cock lays against his belly, thick fluid leaking onto the skin below his navel as Jack's cock is freed from the material of his own bindings. It isn't until he starts to line himself up that he actually speaks again, "Wait, err -- One sec." Isaac twists himself awkwardly towards the dresser to his right, and Jack notes that he would be having himself a laugh if it weren't for the mild inconvenience that it poses. 

"Don't really want to have to explain why I can't sit down for the next couple of days," Isaac shot to Jack, a bit of bitterness in his tone that implied that he had, in fact, had to spin some lie about falling on his ass when he was drunk over the weekend to his friends. It's almost as if Isaac can sense that Jack is growing impatient, but relief washes over him as he feels the small bottle and brings it out, wasting no time in flipping open the cap and getting some of the thick lubricant on his fingers. With fingers, he admits that all he needs is a bit of spit, but with somebody as well-endowed as Jack, it's damn near impossible to take all of him without something else. With one hand, he gives him the bottle so that he can apply some to his length as needed, the other one spreading it over his hole, even going so far as to push briefly into himself to ensure that he's ready, "Hopefully this time I'll be ready for ya." He teases.


	4. Acetaminophen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this chapter while I was trying to recover from a migraine. I hope that doesn't show too obviously. My fucking daddy kink is trying to show through, but literally only a couple of people have read this, so I might just do it tbh. This is likely the last chapter for this actual fic, but I'll likely add more parts and make it a series, idk. Also, I get a little bit into buttsex so it may be like, idk, gross.

He's a quirky guy; From his lop-sided smile to the way that his eyes hold just a bit of chaos inside of them, flecks of insanity inside of those green orbs that is somehow contained just well enough to convert it to lyrics. It's controlled chaos, the type of relationship they have, so he finds it fitting. It has its ups and downs, namely when Jack is too distant or Isaac drinks himself until he becomes a babbling clingy mess, sometimes a combination of the both. 

The smaller man's legs are splayed open for him, and the lewd way that he confidently and liberally lubricates himself, fucks himself onto his own fingers and makes sure that he's good and ready, is almost too much. Jack feels like a damn hedonist watching him like that, all open and wet. It makes a jolt run down each of his vertebrae, pure electricity that collects at the base of his cock, makes it twitch just the slightest, and in that moment he realizes that he can't control himself any longer. There is no cool exterior or composure, he looks wolfish, even, as he grabs at Isaac's thighs and pulls him closer, keeping a hand on the back of his knee to keep his leg bent up into that slutty position. Isaac makes a small exclamation in response, but it only lasts a second when Jack holds himself at the base and prods at the slick entrance, the yip turning into a seemingly shameless noise of approval. 

"I want you to beg for it." Jack says, and there isn't any room for argument in that tone, the way that his dark eyes just remain placid, but he looks as though he's going to fucking devour him at any second. He wants for him to surrender completely, even if it's obvious by his body language that he has already, he wants to hear it come from his mouth. Writhing a bit uncomfortably underneath both the pressure and Jack's body, Isaac pouts to himself, knows that he's backed into a corner and that there is nothing to do other than comply, or risk not getting fucked. He's his prize, his conquest. 

Isaac's pupils are blown, just remnants of green are visible as he smirks at it, wiggles in place as if he's working up the courage. "I want to be a good boy for you, show you how much I've missed you fucking me until I'm a broken mess. Please, Jack?" He's always been good with words, and god, if that doesn't make his hips push forward abruptly, his entire length buried inside of Isaac almost immediately after he says those filthy things to him. It's sort of meant to be a reward, after all, and it is behavior that he wants to see again. Hopefully he won't have to prompt him in the future, will have him begging so pathetically for him without even having to break him down first, much less tell him to. 

"Jesus-- Fuck!" it's so satisfying to see the lack of control that Isaac has over his mouth when he does things like that, his whole body seems to betray him, especially when he's so close to cumming and he comes undone, spouting off such dirty things that Jack contemplates joining the clergy. He wraps his hands around the smaller man's hips, fingertips pressing down on the protruding bones there, his intent is to leave discoloration along the pallid flesh, dark purples to faded sickly greens that are attempting to heal between sessions. He starts to move himself in and out of Isaac, a fast and steady rhythm that he wasn't expecting, but the way that he arches himself off of the carpet and his toughened fingers grasp at the too-short fibers there-- It's enough to put Meg Ryan out of work. 

Jack slams himself inside of Isaac, because he wants to get a reaction out of him, wants for there to be complaints waiting for him at the front desk when he goes to pay his rent, it's all part of the experience. The sounds of his hips hitting the full curve of his ass are almost loud enough to drown out the whining and whimpering that's coming from him, the occasional grunt and groan that comes from his own lungs mixing with them. "Fuck yes.. Keep fucking me, just like that." Isaac growls out underneath his breath, one of his hands going to overlap the one bruising his left hip while the other wraps around the girth of his cock, clear thick fluid starting to copiously dribble down his knuckles only after a couple of strokes. 

Heels dig into the cleft of Jack's ass and lower back, rough enough to make him hiss just slightly in reply, but it's incentive for him to pay Isaac back by pounding into him with all that he's got, enjoying the way that he's rendered soundless for a few seconds. He's shocked by how much pleasure tears through his body, a mix-breed between pain and indulgence that makes his head swim, and once his vocal chords can catch up, he sounds like something out of a fucking porno. Eventually he finds his composure, biting back that sobbing noise that he can't quite stop himself from making when it just gets too good for him to function properly. 

"You like when I give it to you like that?" Jack asks, as if there isn't evidence enough to testify to that, pushing every inch of himself inside of Isaac and grinding himself against him instead of fucking him properly, a tease as he purposefully ruts against his prostate. That sensitive bundle of nerves inside of him is assaulted with such precision that he lets out a cry, a keening sound as he instinctively raises a hand to his mouth so that he can bite onto the knuckle of his finger to muffle it. "Well, do you?" The bastard presses on, and all that Isaac wants is for him to move, to hammer himself against that spot inside of him that feels so heavenly when he angles himself just right. 

It's so good that it's got him nervous, he might as well sell his soul over to Satan now, "God, yes, please keep going," He drawls, there is a thin sheen of sweat on his brow as he speaks, "Please, I need you to fuck me, Jack, just -- Keep going." Isaac adds, wetting his dry lips briefly as he just stares up at him as if he's the most magnificent person he's ever encountered, at his mercy and hooked. He doesn't get a verbal response from Jack, but he just wordlessly starts to go at it once more and it's all that he truly asked for, words would only get in the way at that point. Even though he won't let it on, the taller of the men is already close to his peak, he knows that he's going to cum inside of Isaac soon and that they're going to have to deal with the awkward aftermath any moment now, so he revels in this, takes it all in for what it's worth. 

They lock eyes as Jack thrusts into that tight heat rapidly, a string of curses coming from Isaac as he just lays there and takes it, fisting his cock with the minimal amount of lube that was left over from prepping himself. He looks just as gone as ever, focused, but not all there. Isaac whimpers softly, his hips start to move on their own, a combination of fucking his own hand and Jack's cock at the same time, trying desperately to get there and get rid of the tightness in his belly, the overwhelming heat and just overall need that comes from it. 

In the end, it's actually Jack who cums first, looking at Isaac unravel like he's cheap and disposable, long lashes covering his cheeks as he clenches his eyes closed and practically rides him to completion. His orgasm hits him very roughly, but it encourages him to ride it out by continuing to slam into Isaac, feeling his warm seed shooting inside of him in thick spurts. It isn't until he comes down from the afterglow of his own climax that he sees the lines of pearly white cum all over the smaller man's stomach, his hand loosely still wrapped around his length, covered in the fluid as well. Isaac's a panting, sweaty, cum-covered mess at that point, and that's the way that Jack likes him the most, but he admits that it's best that they take a shower.


	5. Tossing Your Weight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pardner, this is where the angst lies, this is where the pain is, this is where things grow a bit abusive, this is the part where I am an awful person, but it will be alright in the end. Probably a trigger warning for violence and blood and things, abusive relationships that are awful at this moment, maybe homophobic speech. Definite hatefucking coming, by the way.

The dull thrum runs along the wires and into his eardrum, he's used to it, he's tuned it out almost, but it's the significance behind it that makes him keep dialing. Numbers are messily scrawled across the sweaty skin of his palms, faded into a distant gray that doesn't need to be read any longer, his fingers have already memorized the pattern on the cheap plastic pad. The numbers on the soft silicon keys are just as worn as his hopes of getting a hold of Jack anytime soon. Isaac knows damn well that he should have given up a long time ago, admit that what they share isn't special, and let it be simple. But he doesn't -- Not for another fifteen minutes, at least. When he gives up it's without hesitation, a crisp clink of the receiver coming into contact with the key that automatically disconnects, ends the awful drawl of the endless ringing followed by 'Hey this is Jack, if it's important, leave a message and I'll get back to you'. Isaac never leaves a message, not sure what to put down for the record, so he's sure there are several recordings of his little lisp-laced cursings before the message goes dead. This time he lifted the vodka -- closest to the door, not even enough time for an I.D. to be brought into question, he's out and running before they can even get a good glimpse of him. Or at least, they can't prove who he is, even though everyone in town knows him as the kid that always gets into trouble. 

It's a gut-wrenching feeling that he's able to swallow down thickly, chasing it with his lips pressed firmly to the mouth of the aforementioned bottle, grimacing at the bitter sting of it when it goes down with a struggle. He still has bruises from Jack's fingertips on him, demanding and confident, he even prods at them when he's too wound up to function, when he finds himself masturbating with the slickness of the shower. Isaac almost feels ashamed about the fact that he pretends that it's not his fingers, curls his toes like he's aiming to please, imagines those piercing eyes all over him, /watching/. There are scars that don't show, shouldn't show, because he figures that they aren't technically /together/, but that doesn't stop him from waking up and giving a frustrating shout into the fluff of his pillow each time he dreams about them truly being /together/.

Basic cable means that he has to deal with flipping through the channels, the audio from Ren and Stimpy mixing with Seinfeld after a while as he's not even truly paying any attention, just keeping his mind on anything, anything else. His foot taps out an undefined rhythm onto the carpet, but he won't dare pick back up the telephone, he's got a better idea. 

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

A hand clamps down onto Jack's shoulder with intensity that hints towards unfinished business, so he turns himself around to catch a glimpse of Isaac's face before he realizes that he has nothing that he wants to say, and he's trying his best to win over this nice girl that he had met at a local show earlier. It's a band that they had listened to together on a cassette the night before, in fact, so he wouldn't be the least bit surprised if he came to find that Isaac had followed him from there. There's music playing over the speakers of the bar, some macho bullshit that all of the local queer-beaters listen too, surely, it doesn't do too well in drowning out the distinct sound of a voice behind him, and the fingers that are clutching into his shoulder still. 

He isn't turning around and he isn't taking the bait, instead carrying on his conversation with the girl while she curiously eyes him, wondering what the hell he wants, but Isaac isn't going to be ignored. Stepping in between the line of sight between the two of them, he props his elbow up onto the bar and makes it clear that he isn't leaving, "You haven't answered my calls in a week, what the fuck's that about?" he asks, pressing his glasses up the bridge of his nose and then resting that hand on his hip. He's gone through enough fights in his day that he isn't afraid, the worst thing that is going to happen is that he's going to get his ass kicked, and you grow pretty numb to that at some point. 

Jack glances down at his drink for a moment, and he looks like he might be registering the right words to say, or his desire not to even say them, "I didn't feel like talking." He settles on, before his dark eyes are up and running again, taking in the image of the smaller man before him. 

"Yeah?" Isaac asks, turning around and briefly glancing at who Jack had been speaking to previously, "Then what's this.. Whole.. Thing goin' on?" he continues, gesturing between the both of them as a knowing smile finds its place on his mouth, but it's entirely too fake. Isaac only smiles with his teeth when he's got someone caught and he wants to hear them admit it, it's part of the masochistic side of him that wants to feel that pain in his chest, even more severe than when he had to convince his landlord that the sound of the bottle he had thrown against the wall was something else. Even more severe than when he had to tell his friends that he was fine, even when the pills were battling with the booze in his stomach. He had hated himself that night when he was curled in on himself, crying into his pillow, praying to a god that he didn't believe in that something would change, anything at all. 

It's a weird twist of fate, finding the person that you don't have to work hard to carry a conversation, actually enjoying the time that you have to spend together instead of getting to milestones; Boyfriends and meeting the parents. It's unfortunate that it's with somebody who is going too fast for him to keep up. Encircling the mouth of the glass with his hand, Jack raises it to his lips but doesn't take a drink immediately, finding shelter from the brisk reply within the highball, "Didn't feel like talking to you's all." he drawls, a subtle slur to his flat voice. It might just be the last straw, and that's hard to reach for somebody as resilient and understanding as Isaac, who normally shrugs things off of his shoulders, the first to forgive but never forget. 

Hands shoot out to the front of Jack's black leather jacket, there is no specific purpose behind it, that much is clear in the instant, but Isaac brings himself in threateningly close to his face, "You're a fucking bastard." He wishes that his voice hadn't trembled so delicately, but he spits it out as viciously as he can. It's clear that the girl has long since left, not wanting to be caught up in the aftermath of a potential bar fight among two dudes that don't have their relationship laid out perfectly in sight --- Something more complicated than money or a simple rivalry. At first, Jack humors him despite the obvious size difference, flashing a bit of a grin at the mere image of Isaac losing his cool, "Yeah? Well you're fucking a bastard, so what's that make you, huh?" it weighs heavily on his conscience and it takes all of his willpower not to break the glass out of the overwhelming rage that he feels at that comment. He's riding him up the wall, just like that night in the apartment, he knows how to push his buttons, he's so fucking good at it and here he is, enjoying himself as always. 

He has to be the bigger man, he has to save some face, so he does the logical thing and brings his hands away from Jack and turns on his heel, heading for the nearest exit of the bar so that he can be alone. Perhaps get so trashed out of his mind that he has no other choice but to not think about it. Jack motions the bartender over before calling out, "A drug addict and a coward," Isaac knows that he isn't a druggie, he can stop anytime, he just chooses not to. He chooses not to because of people and the state of the world, to escape, to get away from problems that are as handsome as Jack and offer him the world on a silver platter, but they never deliver -- Oh, no -- And they want what they give to you tenfold in return. Jack closes that statement a few seconds later when his feet are glued to the hardwood, he can't move, and he isn't sure if he wants to leave any longer, if he can just get one good hit in he feels as though he's succeeded, "I'm honestly impressed."

The music doesn't stop around the both of them, but the volume of Jack's voice has obviously drawn in the attention of a fair share of the occupants, it's amplified by the way that his heart speeds up and his body starts pumping adrenaline into his veins, ready to show him exactly what he thinks about how he's been treated as of late. Before his brain can catch up to his body and tell him to pump the brakes, he's in the taller man's personal space again, but this time he draws back and spits into his face, enjoying the shocked look that comes over his expression and how he doesn't even react for the longest time. Time is slowed, of course, so it seems like an eternity of Jack looking him over as if he's contemplating what exactly to do about it. 

"You little fucking prick!"

A fist connects with the sensitive cartilage of his nose and all eyes are on them, a warm stream of blood is trickling down Isaac's face and down his chin, falling down into the material of his shirt. The impact of the punch is enough to make his head swim and he's dazed by it, slumping slightly against the bar as he gets his bearings. Hastily running his hand underneath his nose to wipe away a good portion of the blood, he swings for Jack's face too, but it's less calculated and the taller man is able to disarm him before he can do any damage, grabbing onto the back of his collar and marching him towards the door. Somewhere along the way, he's sure that the bartender had told them that they had to take it outside, and that's what he intends on doing, even if he hadn't been instructed to. 

As he's practically dragging Isaac from the bar, he's swearing loudly and trying to twist himself around so that he can strike at him, but he has to constantly be stumbling over his own feet with the pace that Jack has, wanting to get them away from anywhere that the police could get involved. The law doesn't care about two men duking it out behind a bar at the late hours of night, but in privately owned property it seems to be frowned upon.


	6. Standing In The Tall Grass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here is hatefucking and things, part 1 of the actual sex because reasons

All of Isaac's typically sound reasoning is gone when Jack shoves him out of the back door of the bar, sending him forward to fall onto the ground, scraping up his hands when he catches himself, grateful for the amount of water that had collected there for making it less painful but more humiliating in the process. His nose still has an obnoxious sting and he isn't quite sure if the bleeding has stopped, but he still stands up and charges at Jack with everything that he's got. He isn't quite sure, though, why he slams him against the brick side of the building with two hands flat on his chest and hastily raises himself up on the tips of his toes to press his lips against Jack's, just as angry and rough as the punch would have been. Jack clearly doesn't see him as much of a threat, not even flinching when he pins him there, acting as though he's got the upperhand or something of the sort.

Normally there would be the urge to break his jaw, release all of the pent up emotions that he's forced himself to keep down, if it were anybody else he knows that he would try his damndest, even taking the other man's size into account. The solidity of his teeth comes through the silkiness of his mouth with the ferocity in which he presses into him, roughness and hard feelings aside, it's much needed. Jack has the material of Isaac's shirt twisted in his fists at his chest, making it to where he wouldn't be able to get away even if he wanted to, sealing that minimal gap between them by jerking the smaller man forward and against his body. He steps forward like a dog on a leash, all bark and no bite it would seem when it comes to Jack, when they both know that he's the exception. He's never been the type to back down from a fight, in fact, he picks them more often than not, but here he is, all sloppy kisses and groping hands in the shady area behind a bar.

He can taste the blood that would be drying if it weren't still running freely being mixed between their tongues, sharp and metallic but not enough to keep them off of one another in the least, it almost seems to add a level of animosity to it. Isaac makes a distressed noise when a set of fingers take hold of a fistful of hair and tears him away from the kiss, exposing his throat so that Jack can promptly bend down to bite at it. It's too rough for his liking, way too intense for it to be enjoyable, so Isaac resorts to hitting him right in the ribs because they might be bound together but he sure as fuck isn't going to let him cause any more harm to him without exacting some type of revenge.

It does the trick in getting Jack to let go of him, this sort of quiet rage in his expression when he instead shoves him backwards with two hands on his chest but not giving him any room to escape by stepping forward each time, "It's like you /want/ me to hurt you, Isaac," He pulls a smile, "It's like you just want me to fuck you up right here and now." and it does manage to send shivers down the smaller man's spine with how blunt and threatening he's acting. It's a part of him that he hasn't seen yet and that is, admittedly, mildly frightening. There isn't any room to hide or run away from the brawl that's going to take place and it's not like Isaac would want to given the opportunity, he's got just as much fire inside of him as Jack does and perhaps that's why neither of them is going to apologize, or why they're going to let their testosterone do the talking instead of being civilized.

Isaac can feel blood trickling down the front of his face and dripping off of his chin and he can only imagine that he looks like a victim of a schoolyard bullying incident but that doesn't discourage him. It's been argued that he's got a screw loose and he figures that's why he isn't intimidated by people like Jack, people that have come from tough situations and know how to stand their ground in a big city in contrast to his upbringing in a shitty hick town where everyone knows everybody. He's got his fists up in front of his face as a guard if Jack does start swinging, doesn't want to get knocked out and left behind without any relief over their tensions, and he notes the way that the coppery fluid leaks onto his teeth when he replies, "You just gonna sit there and talk shit all day, or you gonna actually fucking fight me?"

Perhaps it's not wise for him to go around picking fights with men that are damn near a foot taller than he is, but he's got enough anger pent up inside of him that he doesn't care if he wins, thinks of it as a bit of catharsis if anything. He also just wants to get a good couple of hits in, just to let Jack know that he isn't fucking around. The taller man hurls himself forward, leading with a jab of his fist that comes underneath his solar plexus and right into his gut, knocking all of the breath out of him effectively enough that it sends him staggering towards the wall. He doubles over, trying to protect himself as Jack goes in for another strike and actually lands it, hitting him right where he had before, his lungs ache and are desperate for air. It's way more one-sided than Isaac had originally intended, but he's taken far more beatings than he can count and he doubts that Jack will have the stamina to break his record of damage received.

The smaller man lets out a wheeze of "God fucking damnit" but there isn't enough time for his lungs to stop quaking and for his diaphram to function properly, so he has to use all of his willpower to focus on getting back into the fight rather than thinking of how he feels as though he's suffocating. He lowers himself as quickly as possible, ducking underneath any shots that are aimed at his face, and he lays his shoulder into Jack's mid-section with all of the force that he can get behind it to knock him to the ground. It results in the both of them being sent to the ground, gravity being most unkind to Jack's spine when it strikes the damp pavement, which gives Isaac the upper hand for the first time in the night when he can scramble to crawl on top of him.

He straddles his waist and he feels an unwelcomed flood of emotions at the view of him beneath him, but it's all wrong, it's not like it was before, and all that Isaac can do is draw back and try to focus elsewhere, look anywhere but at the other man's eyes. It hurts way more than he thought it would, it clenches at his chest like a fucking heart attack and it shouldn't cut so deep but it /does/ and when he does get the energy to strike and hit Jack in the face he knows that he's holding back. His teeth clench and his jaw is sore and it's the only way that he can push himself through it with a growl, starting to throw punches, one after the other, not really even aiming for any section of Jack in particular. It's all over so quickly, Jack still managing to ground himself despite being beat on and he bucks his hips up to knock him off balance, sitting up so that he can loom over Isaac and pin him down by his wrists.

His voice is like a razorblade and it digs into him when he speaks and it's impossible for him to prevent the tears that start to well up in the corners of his eyes like the sensitive bastard they both know he is deep down and he can't just /hide/ it any longer, "Oh, how typical of little Isaac to get his feelings hurt. What, did it never occur to you that I'm not in love with you?" He asks and it's harsh, so harsh that it temporarily makes him want to disappear completely. He knows that he has to do something or else he's going to actually cry in front of another person and that's the last thing that he wants to do, especially in front of this asshole, so he tears his hands out of Jack's grips and goes for a last-ditch effort, just trying to hit anything really. The smaller man is shut down quickly when a forearm is pressed into his windpipe and he has to use all of his attention in trying to remove it, fingers wrapping around it and digging his nails into the skin to try his best to get him to let up just enough for him to get some air.

"You can't hide from this, Isaac!" He shouts, and it's loud enough that he bets that it'll be no time at all before the cops are called on them, "We. Are not. Together." and his face is inches away from his own and he can taste his lips and he's so fucking sorry to the universe for not being good enough because he thinks that he knows everything, is dead set on believing that's what the consensus is. All of the cheap booze that he wasted away on waiting around for Jack smells like his breath but it's something to be admired when it comes from somebody like him, sweet and dripping with other scents on his person -- His favorite brand of cigarettes and his hair, his cologne.

And, just as timidly as he can, he does speak up for himself eventually, but it comes out as something far more pitiful and laced with self-loathing than it ever should be, "I know that." and with his bloodied nose and his busted lip, it's not surprising that he breaks at it, having to admit it to the open air that he's been aware of their status secretly since the beginning. He just didn't want to admit it to himself. He feels so unnecessarily weighted down to the earth with Jack on top of him, making it increasingly apparent that he isn't going anywhere when that tear spills out over his cheek and he turns his head defiantly against it, not willing to show Jack.

It might be dirty, but it's what he has to do to get himself out of the corner he's backed himself into, so he takes Jack off guard by shifting his body so that he can bite into his arm as roughly as he can with his jagged and uneven teeth. Isaac shoves with his feet, they're scraping around on the ground, trying to find traction to go anywhere else but underneath him. His 'plan b' is to run away as fast and as far as he can and he does manage to slip out from his grasps and bring himself to his feet, his legs feeling like they have no bones and as if they can't move as quickly as he wants to, but all movement is halted soon enough. A strong grip twists around in the back of his shirt and he hears the distant sound of it ripping when he uses all of his weight against him to slam him against the nearest object, right into a dumpster. Isaac barely catches himself against the slick metal when he's thrown into it, fingers fanning out over the surface and he's finished, down for the count in one fell swoop.

The smaller man's shirt is hanging loosely around his shoulders, tattered and useless when Jack spins him around so that they're facing one another, an unyielding hold finding its way to his jaw to keep a line of eye contact between them. Just holding him there so that he can get a good look at him it seems, brushing a thumb over the lesion on his lower lip and he's frankly stunned when he does pull away once he flinches in response, wincing at the soreness of it. They both have on these unreadable expressions and Isaac doesn't know what to make of it all, or what he should be doing with Jack not pummeling him when he's so shit out of luck. He does get the balls to take a step forward and he's promptly pushed back into the side of the dumpster with a hand splayed out over his chest, and it's one of those situations where he doesn't think that Jack's going to spell it out for him, but he isn't going to let him make the wrong moves. He wants a very specific reaction out of him and he won't even give him any sort of hint.

"Get out of my way or so help me god--"

"What, you'll start crying again?"

"Shut the fuck up, Jack."

"I'd like to see you try and make me."

And there's this coy little grin on his face when he boxes him in with hands on either side of him, leaning in really close as if he's inviting some sort of retaliation and then it occurs to him what's taking place. Jack doesn't want to kick him when he's down and it's blatantly obvious that he's out of the fight, so he wants him back in, wants to get him to swing so that he can continue without feeling any sort of guilt. There is blood inside of Jack's mouth from where his teeth scraped against his cheek too hard and he swallows it down instead of choking on it like he wants to, giving the appearance that he's got no damage to his person apart from the scuffs to his face and the bruising that will show up later.

So Isaac buys into it like an idiot and uses all of his remaining strength to shove him by his stomach, taking those few inches of leniency that it gains him to cock back a fist and throw it into his chest, knowing damn well that it won't be enough to disarm him. What he gets in return is a couple of blows to the head that make him feel dizzy, like his feet aren't secured to the ground and he's going to black out, but he slumps against the bin with all of his weight and absently acknowledges the amount of red fluid that's coming from him. He spits it out in the direction of Jack's shoes before he can take him by the throat and hold him by that against the metal, the sound that the impact makes combining with the sickening one of fingers going to his own belt buckle and undoing it.

He hates him so fucking much, Isaac swears, but he can't explain why he starts to grow hard when Jack unzips him with his free hand and reaches into his boxers to stroke him, getting him to a full hardness when all he can do is breathe and wince at the various pains over his body. The adrenaline is wearing off and it's leaving him with the brunt of the consequences of his actions. Jack is so predatory when he touches him, twists his grip around his shaft and uses all of his previous knowledge to work him up in the worst way possible.

Grinning down at him and squeezing around his windpipe just to hear him choke on oxygen, Jack bends himself so that he's right in Isaac's ear, "You're such a whore that you can't even deny me with your blood on my knuckles." He chuckles darkly, drawing in his earlobe in between his teeth to nip at it, "You're so fucking pathetic." and it's the truth that cuts him the worst of all. He can't even bring himself to weakly bring a hand up to shove Jack away or stop him from touching him, and he briefly ponders if it's his willpower that's lacking instead of his physical capability, but he doesn't know if he wants to question the depths of his aforementioned pathetic qualities.

It's the second time during the night that he musters out an "I know" and he doesn't reply with much more than that, his hips thrusting into Jack's hand when he does this wicked motion with his thumb over his slit that milks out all of his composure and he's so turned on and he's so hurt that he thinks he might just die. Isaac draws his bottom lip in between his teeth and he nibbles on the aggravated skin, relishing in the sharp jolt that it sends through his body to just be nagging at something that's trying to heal, but he deserves it, and he finds a comfort in it. It also might just be to keep in that moan that threatens to come from Isaac and give Jack the satisfaction that he's seeking.

His grip doesn't falter even when he's sure that Isaac isn't going to try anything stupid, it gives him a sense of satisfaction when he longingly stares at his lips too long, wanting to taste them and have them all over his body. He imagines how nicely it will feel to shove his cock into Isaac's mouth when he's all beaten and defeated, fuck his throat until he's a choking, sobbing mess. So he makes him sink to his knees with hands on his shoulders, guiding him down as he goes without any sort of resistance once he gives him a low growl in the back of his throat that threatens him far more intensely than words ever could. Seated on his knees with his shirt all but falling off of him if not only to save himself some of his modesty, his cock is exposed with his pants undone and sliding down his slender hips, the image of a man that's truly given up.

Still, as if to assert his dominance over him once more, he gives him the whole "If you bite me, I'll knock your teeth out" routine and starts to work at his own fastenings, Isaac's green eyes fixed on the ground rather than the way that Jack pulls himself out of his underwear without shame. Then a hand is guiding him forward by the base of his skull as if he doesn't know how to proceed, a sharp sting as his lips stretch around his length and he's not given any sort of grace period where he can work himself up into taking all of him. No, as can be expected, Jack forces himself to the very hilt until he's pushed himself past the back of Isaac throat and can feel him swallowing around him. Placing his hands on Jack's hips, half to ground himself and half to try and push him away, they're swiftly captured and held above his head as if he isn't already at a disadvantage, leaving him to only focus on his breathing. He chokes and tries to will himself to get a steady pattern of breathing through his nose, this twisted little grin is all over Jack's face when he does catch a glimpse of spit lightly running down his chin, absently running his thumb over it as if fascinated.

Once Isaac does find that space of leniency in Jack's thrusts where he can take in a breath, he calms down and relaxes, eyes falling closed as he just lets him do it, hoping to dismiss the fact that he's hard as ever and his body doesn't seem to want to acknowledge that he was beating the shit out of him only a couple of minutes before. He wants so desperately to touch himself, get to that spot of pleasure so that he can focus on something pleasant rather than how he's taking Jack's cock in the most humiliating of ways and how he smells blood and his whole body just wants rest. The man above him is muttering something underneath his breath as he steadily thrusts his hips up against Isaac's face but he can't make out the words as well as he wants to, something that's meant to be degrading of course, but he can't -- Maybe doesn't want to, register them.

The cruelest thing of all is when his foot comes forward and he presses it against his crotch with a pressure that's uncomfortable enough to make him squirm, pulling himself off of Jack's cock a forcefully and turning his head to the side, trying to avoid him. It's only enough time to get a whimper out before he's got him by his hair and he's shoving him back down, even as he struggles and inadvertantly grinds himself into the bottom of his shoe, keening around Jack's cock as it sinks into his throat and he can taste hints of bitter fluid. There is heat in the pit of his stomach and knots are starting to form in his pelvis when he can't restrain it any longer and the friction of rubbing himself against Jack's foot is better than nothing at all and he just closes his eyes and succumbs.

As much as Jack would like to shoot into Isaac's mouth and watch him struggle to catch all of it and swallow, he doesn't want the night to end like that, he knows that fucking him is a much more worthy ending. So he tugs him off of the end of his cock and admires the strings of saliva that connect them, the wetness and fullness of Isaac's lips when he finally lets out a subtle grunt at how he's humping him like a fucking dog, green eyes somewhere that isn't physical. "I bet you'll cum like this, huh?" Jack asks, applying more pressure just to see Isaac bite his lip in spite of knowing it's a painful choice of action, aggrivating the cut there and springing more blood to the surface in the process. The way that the smaller man nods pathetically at his feet is enough to make him crack a smile, ears picking up on the huskiness of his breathing and the way that he lowers his head in shame. He's close.

It's so sudden when he actually goes over the edge, body trying to slump forward but he's unable to when Jack firmly holds him in place by his wrists, shuddering and shivering and panting as he does it. He should be disgusted by it, his nose would wrinkle towards anybody else and he would shove them off without further regards, but it's Isaac, and each and every thing that makes him seem flawed, helpless and weak, seems to draw him in more closely. The taller man chooses not to look at the mess that he's made, because he's sure that if Isaac did it badly enough that he would be tempted to hit him again and leave him in the alley with nothing but pain to remind him of what happened.

As he's seated there, sweat on his brow and heart beating against his ribs, Jack does reach his hand forward to push a lock of too long hair out of Isaac's face, a gesture of affection as he sees it, he just hopes that the message does get across. He doesn't hate him, it's far from that, he loves him and the fact of the matter is that in itself scares him, he just doesn't have the courage to tell him that. He doesn't want to love Isaac, but god dammit he does. Meanwhile, Isaac is thinking of nothing and the mild comfort that Jack's touch gives him is shadowed by his own blankness when he's starting to emerge from the afterglow of his orgasm, blinking away at the blur that wants to take over. His eyes are going to be swollen tomorrow where they've been hit so savagely by a certain quick-tempered man from Detroit and he can already feel it starting to take effect, but he doesn't tell him about it, doesn't even acknowledge that minute detail of the overall physical stimuli of his surroundings.

 

 


End file.
